


A Clockwork Heart

by Lady_and_the_Stars



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Marco has a sister, a little cottage, it's probably going to be painful, mild language because It's Jean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_and_the_Stars/pseuds/Lady_and_the_Stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is an angry nineteen year-old with the bad habit of messing everything up. Marco is the quiet, obedient boy who spends too many nights stargazing. That is, until Jean catches Marco in his cottage. Or maybe that's reversed. Victorian New York AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Clockwork Heart

September 7th, 1857

Jean Kirstein groggily blinked opened his heavy eyes, raising his arm to shield them from the light. He'd been attending a party at Sasha Blouse's home. He and Sasha had been quite close ever since her family had moved into ten when he was ten. They'd caused all sorts of mischief together. She'd thrown it as one last celebration of the summer. Everyone he knew arrived. One last gathering before they all parted separate ways. Most of the people he knew were going off to university, while the rest would be busy with jobs. The boring stuff, as far as he was concerned. He wanted to do something interesting, not all that expected stuff. No, Jean would have plenty of time for all that when he was older. Hence, why he might have tried to make the party a bit more interesting last night. The last thing he could remember clearly was demanding another whiskey. Which might explain why his head was pounding like someone was continuously taking a baseball bat to it. The silence in the room only promoted the ringing in his ears. Once his eyes were adjusted to the light, he lowered his arm and glanced around the room. Assessing the damage. The room was a mess - probably his doing. His jacket and tie were resting nicely upon the piano in the corner of the room. Ashes from the fireplace were scattered on the hardwood floor. There were glasses placed on every surface. Next time he was definitely going to avoid the alcohol. A couple paintings were knocked off of the ivory walls and there was one priceless vase shattered near the fireplace. His light brown eyes widened when he realized it wasn't any vase. It was Sasha's favorite. She was going to kill him. He groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

Which is when Jean noticed her standing at the foot of the recamier sofa. She looked like she'd been waiting for him to awaken. When Jean met her eyes, she glared at him and begun to mess with the end of her sleeve. Jean looked away, embarrassed. He felt like a small child who'd been caught doing something bad. She was dressed in a very traditional lilac dress. Her wavy chestnut colored hair was pinned back in a bun. The dark circles under her eyes were more vivid than usual. The longer Jean waited the more apparent it became that she was not going to speak first. Jean coughed to clear his voice before letting out a very quiet question. "What time is it, exactly?" 

Sasha raised her head, meeting his eyes once again. Before she spoke, she nodded to the maid sweeping up the ashes. Jean hadn't even noticed the maid come in, but she took her leave. "It's already noon. I expect you're going to be in some trouble when you get back home." 

"How bad was I last night?" He didn't want to know, but he needed to. He thought back to the night before. After his third or fourth whiskey things became harder to recall. Something about a server, and the strangest feeling of wanting to kick Eren Jaeger's ass. 

"Eren Jaeger stumbled in on you becoming rather close with one of the servers." That girl wasted no time in getting to the bad parts. She threw a copy of the daily newspaper at him. He caught it, and peered down at the cover. Nothing about the party, so that must have been good, right? "Page four." 

Sasha waited as he skimmed the article. _Shit._ So there was the fuzzier part of his memory. A version of it, anyway, written down for the entire city to read and judge. The press was having a field day. 'Kirstein Hides a Dirty Secret.' Jaeger had gone straight to the press, and spun the story out of proportion. He and Jean had been what some would call rivals since they were children. Jaeger was constantly trying to prove he was so much better, any petty way he could. This time he'd tried to sabotage Jean. He shook his head - it was just a careless, drunken mistake. One that he wasn't going to make again. His parents had warned him against showing this type of behavior. He stood up, using the sofa for support, and handed the paper back to Sasha. "I'm going to kill him. I'm sorry about last night. I'm sorry you're involved in this." 

She set the paper back down on the side table. The anger slowly eased from her face. Instead it was replaced with worry. Sasha never stayed angry with anyone. "That's not the point, Jean. I don't care about whatever you did last night - or who you might've done it with. I care about my vase, which I expect you to replace. I care about how this is going to impact your future. People don't take kindly to incidents like this, rather you were drunk or not." 

Jean gathered his jacket and tie from the cold piano surface. He flinched when he accidentally pressed down on own of the keys. The high-pitched sound echoed throughout the room, causing the pounding in his head to worsen. He shrugged on his jacket and begun to put on his tie. He wasn't eager to head home. He'd be lucky if his mother didn't literally kill him. She told him just days ago that if he didn't stop getting into trouble, she'd disown him. This could have just cost him everything. He imagined the looks people would give him on the street, they way they would treat him now if he didn't fix this somehow. Jean began to panic slightly at all the scenario's running through his mind. He could have just caused his father to lose his clients, they could send him away -- 

Sasha not-so-gently took Jean's tie out of his grip. "You're going to strangle yourself with it. Just go home, okay? Before you get yourself into anymore trouble. Have a little faith. You know everyone will move on from this. It's only Eren's word and he's been proven to be disreputable before. And drink some water. It'll help with that headache." She advised. 

Jean nodded, spontaneously giving her a hug. She deserved it."You're a lifesaver, Sasha Blouse. I really owe you." 

Sasha laughed, pushing him away. "Please be careful." 

Sometimes he couldn't believe she still put up with him.

 

Jean took a deep breath before slipping his key into the key of the front door. It turned silently, opening without effort. He closed it behind him, praying that his parents weren't there or if they were, that they hadn't yet read the paper. It was a hopeless dream. He wasn't a coward, though, no matter how afraid he was of his parents at times. He decided to head straight to the parlor and confront them. That was his best bet. His footsteps seemed louder than ever on the marble floors as he made his way through the rather large house. As he passed by a couple of the maids they fell silent. They wouldn't even dare meet his eyes. He finally reached his destination, entering and shutting the door behind him before he realized both of his parents were already there. He had the sudden desire upon seeing their gazes to back away and pretend he wasn't home yet. It was too late for that. They stopped mid-conversation and watched his every move. It was time to face the fallout.

He walked over to the table in the far corner and slowly poured himself a cup of coffee. As he raised the mug to his mouth, the liquid was cold on his tongue, not to mention bitter. It felt good going down his throat. Anything to keep from having to explain. He turned back to face them, quietly sipping his coffee. The battle of the stares.

Jean's mother, Elisa, walked over to him, stopping a good five inches away. Despite being shorter than him she still sparked a fear within. Her eyes were bright with anger. Jean put down the coffee, figuring he better speak fast. "Okay, now I know it seems bad, but--"

He gasped as a sharp pain took up residence on his cheek. She provided no explanation, but Jean already knew. Her slap said everything he need to know - it was too late for excuses. He gingerly held a hand to his face; it was most likely going to leave a mark. As if the hangover itself wasn't bad enough. She walked briskly back to his father's side. Jean looked past her to the bookshelf lining the wall. He recalled how he used to climb up to the top, all to only fall off. Just like know, he climbed too high and was falling fast.

"Never again will you disgrace the Kirstein name. Do you hear me Jean?" She spoke with reserved determination. Jean would not be let off easy this time. He simply nodded. "Good. Now we've been thinking. This scandal needs to go away. It needs to be forgotten. Since you so diligently insist on not attending college, the next best option is for you to get married."

Did no one in that town save the ugly parts for later?

Jean shook his head. No way in hell would he let that happen. The mere thought of getting married scared the hell out of him. He was supposed to live his life before he dealt with managing a marriage. "No. That's not going to happen."

Elisa gave him an exhaustive glare. "You don't have a choice. We held off on this in hopes that you would go off to college, but you've made your choice."

"One little rumor makes its way into the paper, and now you're trying to force me to wed?" He feel his anger growing. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Of course his parents already planned his marriage, too. Not one aspect of his life could be his own.

His father spoke up, a rarity withing itself. Jean almost gasped at the sound of his voice. "You will do this, son. If you want inherit anything. We've watched as you've destroyed yourself for too long. Now, we're going to fix the damage you've created."

His father never spoke, unless he justified it extremely important. He could hardly recall their last full conversation. Jean knew, this was the last straw for them. If he didn't agree to this he'd end up in the streets. "I just - I need to think."

Elisa shook her head. She was clearly disgusted by him. Jean couldn't keep but feel a bit ashamed he'd let them down again. He just couldn't stand when they tried to control him. "You should've been thinking all along."

How was he going to get out of this now?

 

Jean stared up at the cottage that had become the place of his salvation for the last few years. He stumbled upon it as a younger teenager after having ran away over something stupid. Ever since it was always the place Jean went to whenever he need to clear his head. It was just a little abandoned place in the middle of the woods. There was a river that ran through the backyard, making it an ideal location for a getaway. He always wondered why no one bought the place. The exterior was all wood, adding to its serene natural charm. In the last few months he hadn't visited it as much. It was apparent in the grime covering the windows. It was time for him to clean again. Maybe he could start adding a back patio as well before winter hit. Jean stood there admiring it for a few more seconds before walking up to the front door. He rubbed his hands together at an attempt to warm them. It was already cold for the time of the year. He turned the doorknob and threw the door open with some gusto. He was all too glad to be there. Maybe a bit too attached to the place. He quickly became alarmed when he spotted someone curled up in his chair by the fireplace, apparently reading. 

The man's eyes shot up to Jean. He uncurled from the chair, setting down the book he'd been holding before he stood up. Jean took in the freckled man. He seemed at ease, but that could be an act. The fire was going strongly. Whoever he was, he'd been there for a couple hours. Jean looked about warily. This was _his_ cottage. This always had been. He'd be damned if a stranger was about to come in and act like he owned the place. The stranger simply looked at Jean with amusement. "Well, close the door. You're gonna kill the fire."

Jean did as told, before marching over to the man. He crossed his arms, keeping in mind that he didn't officially own the place. Sometimes he let that little detail slip. Nonetheless, a little confidence wouldn't hurt in getting the stranger to leave. "What the hell do you think you're doing in my cottage?"

"Your cottage?"

"I clearly said that."

The stranger chuckled before answering. "I'm Marco Bott. The owner of your cottage. And you are?"

Jean made a sound of half-confusion and half-anger. How dare this Marco whoever come in there and say that he actually did own it. Fuckin' lunatic. "Jean Kirstein, but never-mind that. I've been coming here for years and not once have I seen you before." Jean smirked with pride. There was a good point. Let Marco try to answer that.

"I abandoned it. It was a gift from my father in the hopes I would renovate it and use it for something worthy." Marco watched as Jean smirk slowly crumbled - he was finally accepting it. Jean hoped he was lying, but something in his expression told him otherwise.

"Well, I've been taking care of this place for years, so I suppose technically it should be mine. On paper, or not." Jean said with some finality. He was going to go down fighting.

Marco simply shrugged. He didn't care if people came there or not. It's not like Marco had even bothered with it. He was glad at least someone was taking care of the place. "I suppose I owe you a 'thank you' then. You've kept the place looking nice."

Jean was taken aback by his gratitude. He expected to be kicked out or something. He definitely did not expect to be thanked. He attempted to shrug it off causally. "It was nothing. " 

Marco smiled and picked the book back up. He flipped through it before heading towards the door. "However, it is still _my_ cottage, Jean. Don't forget that." 

Jean watched Marco leave, a bizarre look upon his face. He had the strangest feeling they'd met before. Jean shook his head - it was just the stress getting to him.


End file.
